Polar Freeze To Pepsi Free: The Effervescence Of Paul And Danica
by Quillon42
Summary: Takes place during the film Saw 3 but imagines a certain victim from back in Saw 1 who survived thanks to the bond he shares with a most humble superhero some call Pepsiman. Now Danica so might be saved, given it is not the vengeful Jeff who arrives on the freezing scene, but rather a cola-fueled Paul. (Technically spoilers for Saw 1, Saw 3, Jigsaw, and maybe like other Sawses).


FROM POLAR FREEZE TO PEPSI FREE: THE EFFERVESCENT INTERCOURSE OF PAUL AND DANICA

By Quillon42

Concealed and congealed within the forbidding freezer of a most putrid palace of pork packings had been a comely yet cowardly young woman whose most heinous offense had involved not the commission of a wrong, but rather the omission of failing to do anything to right it in fact. Indeed, Danica Scott could have served as a witness in the matter of a criminal case against the wayward (though repentant) drunken driver Timothy Young—yet the craven maiden opted out, she rather absconding from the scene so as not to become involved in anything that would approach such a responsible role.

Such abandonment by this motorist most remiss resulted in the garnering of angst on the part of Jeff Denlon-Reinhart, the father of the child Dylan whose trike had collided lethally with the overbearing wheels commandeered by a more than tipsy Timothy. Even more lethally, though, Danica's irresponsible absconding from the scene also attracted the attention of one John Kramer, a cancer patient and callous puzzler whose smorgasbord of jigsaws, those of steel and fire and acid and so many other untoward substances, had not only perplexed their players mentally but rather put them out quite physically as well. One only had to ask varied living veterans of John's "games" how their limbs turned to nubs, or how they gained particular scars and lost certain senses otherwise, all from the verily excruciating experiences each had endured.

Now it was Danica who would serve to be the present moment's most involved contestant in one of Kramer's killer artifices, as she was in a factory's oversized icebox dressed to the wrists in rigid chains and naught else upon her artificial-elements-afflicted frame. Sadly for this sister who was about to become more of a snowflake than the most anally sensitive and retentive of social justice warriors, her game had in this reality begun a bit prematurely, with the whooshing water jets wreaking aquatic agony all over her pale exposed flesh before her visitor and John's other player Jeff had alighted through the chamber's doorway. Even worse was the fact that, as with one Logan Nelson in Jigsaw John's earlier gaming tests, Jeff had been sedated overly much such that it would take an elephant gun in his ear to even begin to rouse him. It would seem as if, then, that the chance for Danica to survive her boreal ordeal was, perhaps apropos-ly, as fleeting as the femme was herself in fleeing from that accident scene so long ago.

…

…

…

Fortunately for the frau nearly frozen over, a worthy savior would alight to deliver Danica from perishing in this polar sepulcher. It would be in fact herein one Paul Leahy, (whom this author realized not long ago that his very name is a pun on the word "play," as in the frenetic and fatalistic play of these punishing games), who would in fact here have for the record "survived" his slog through the system of razor wire rounded up for him. In actuality, Paul's own "victory" arrived in no small part thanks to the intravenous intervention of a certain beverage which a very oafish yet awesome benefactor bestowed upon him in his hour of need.

It was a few minutes after three in the morning, indeed during the darkest hours of the diurnal cycle, when a Superperson composed of Pepsi down to the leptons had happened upon what he could feel beneath the earth was what was left of his most enterprising disciple. Absorbing the ebbing essences of his most fervent follower of the Sanctified Froth, this Angel of Effervescence wrenched out his Pepsico-patented-can-opener-cum-crowbar and burst into the underground shed into which Paul's pitiful plumpness had been unceremoniously uttered. Upon the pouring of that sugary sepia serum into the chubby corpse's mouth, as well as into his ears and nostrils and other orifices this author would rather not mention, the once moribund Leahy was alive again, and more energetic than ever to boot.

Certainly this would be a one-eighty for Paul now. Indeed the vivacity ever radiating from this now-mirthful fat fuck, all derived from such a legalized vice product in fact, was a non-Jack-Carvery far cry from the suicidality experienced earlier at learning that the Twist variety of his favorite fountain drink was going to be discontinued. It was at that weakest moment in the enormous individual's existence that Kramer and his literally pig-headed henchpeople had captured him…though not without a fight on the part of the Pepsi-pushing portly one.

So now, anyhow, it was Danica who was now encased from face to figure otherwise in ice, when of a sudden a voice had announced the commencing of an amusement most intense. It was not the crummy "catch phrase" of the generically-monikered Billy the Puppet's "I want to play a game" that had boomed throughout the cruelly chilly room, though, but rather something similar…and to those who adored Sony and Soda equally, something familiar nonetheless.

"Hey, let's start the game!"

Through irises now nearly negated by her wintry situation, Miss Scott could barely make out the sight of the masculine male most alpha who would act as her salvation. Seated atop the crate still containing an unconscious Jeff was Master Leahy, that same landfill of lardass whose most scintillating achievement was the imbibing of cylinders saturated with sucrose, biodegradable bottles of diabetes-to-be in fact.

Although the brumally-beset blonde was in a most arresting of arrangements at the moment, the carbonation charging the capillaries of the corpulent one watching her afforded the man no sense of sympathy or panic; in fact, that most dubious fuel flowing through this largest of layabouts made him find the entire predicament rather entertaining.

"Heh, heh, heh! Heh, heh, heh! Heh, heh, heh!"

And with the shoveling of so many offerings from Lay's snack company (a corporation associated with Pepsi, of course) right into his gigantic gullet:

[CRAMM CRAMM CRAMM]

"…

"…

"…Pepsi for T.P. Game!"

[CRAMM CRAMM CRAMM]

Anyone else gazing at the woeful workings of such a game herein (the "T.P." of which stood for that most Torturous of Prons, a term which was also a condensing down of the entire Saw franchise's most prominent criticisms) might have at least fainted, if not had a stroke from the abomination of an incident that was transpiring. But not our oversized cola-chugging conqueror.

For her part as well, now, the once-doomed dame in the deep freeze was regaining more and more of her faculties. All of the activity on the part of this pundit of pudginess across from her had not only inspired Danica in her hiemally-hampered condition…it had aroused her as well.

He was now, at the moment, scarfing down the remains of swine from another chamber over, this after he had just recently and casually set free Judge Halden and even liberated Dylan's toys from that incinerator to boot:

"Pepsi for Pig Vats."

Forsooth, down low the dudette's area of intimacy was most readily activated, her clunge having changed from cold to calid upon beholding the monolith of manchildness that was now before the maiden. From here it was hairlines that began to form in the H2O hardened around her…then there were cracks so much more pronounced…until finally

[THACRRRAAAAAASSSSSSHHHHHH]

a terrific explosion, a non-crappily-HBO-helmed song of ice and iron issued as Danica Scott emerged not only whole, not only healthy…but also hungry.

"YEAHHHHHH YOU GOT IT! WHOOO…"

For his part, Paul yelled and whooped in puerile joy at first, he even jumping up on the crate and falling through (and still failing to awaken Jeff even at this juncture)…

…but then this most lurid Leahy found himself too abruptly done in by a most devastating of detonations, all within him. Even Pepsi per se could not have such an extreme effect upon catching sight of this Siberia-inspired siren now. Looking upon the lady's lovely lily-fair figure, all applicable accessories and clothing cut away from her…

…inside the barren brain of the fiftysomething fetus now, the canny cola can chorus altered its jarring mononymic refrain to reflect the crazed concupiscence percolating from within. Indeed, there were three musical syllables slinging through the stocky shill's soda-celebrating cerebellum…but now they shouted in erotic earnest:

"_FAP-SE-MENNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNNN!"_

(NB: This author ordinarily does not embrace such crudeness in phrasing, but herein it was necessary given the cadence and diction and such)

Thus clutching at that furious font beneath his belt, that from which cream cola would nightly well at will, Paul pulled at his pantlings and attempted to make for the preceding corridor.

"Ex…(BURP)…Excuse me…"

But Danica so would deny him such easy exit.

Battening down thusly upon the burly bro a beat later was the babe, she the same woman in fact whose image adorned the wall above Paul's easy chair in his Pepsi-Lair back home, the one who could only be seen by Sony StationPlayers as immaculate legs and ivory boots above his head.

Now it was those same tender thighs that would caress the cheeks of the chunky chum's countenance, now it would be her gelid belly against his jelly belly in fact, now it would be Leahy's lips laying into the iceberg lettuce of Miss Scott's algid salad, now it would be his hefty hands along the silken skin of her ambrosial arms, now it would be Paul's puffy kisser drinking from the nippy nectar of Danica's bulky benumbed breasts.

One instant the razor wire survivor would remember more than anything that fateful day…one he would recall more than times involving all the people he would save from Saws One through Infinity with soda alone…it would be during this tryst, when he suckled and made those insufferable swallowing sounds…

_[GULP…GULP…GULP…GULP…GULP…GULP…]_

then realized that which lactated forth was not the hoped-for flavor of cola…nay, not even the diet or caffeine-free variety…but rather a product also plunked down by Pepsi, something really too lemon-lime for his liking in all honesty. Something that other tow-headed ladies such as Esther Canadas had championed in frigid environs, in commercials past.

Danica met the man's awkward gawk, and seconds later the pair shared an easy smile to christen their status as soulmates in soft drinks, she uttering authoritatively:

"Sierra Mist only my choice."


End file.
